


Tumblr Dialogue Prompts - Leslie & Ben

by Nutriyum_Addict



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:57:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutriyum_Addict/pseuds/Nutriyum_Addict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Ask Box dialogue prompts. These drabbles (ficlets?) are not related to one another (except where indicated).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait Right There, Don't Move (Rated G)

"Oh my god," he manages to get out before his eyes snap shut protectively.

He hears Leslie laughing from the other side of the room and really he can’t blame her. But he’s covered in…it’s even in his nose—that can’t be good. And of course Ben has heard of this sort of thing happening, he just figured maybe it was a baby urban legend kind of thing? Or if he was quick enough…”Babe. Help.”

"Wait right there, don’t move," she says. He can hear her rummaging around the nursery and then she’s right there, coming up next to him and putting a soft, dry towel in the hand that isn’t safely on his three-month old son’s stomach, as he lays on the changing table. He’s always terrified that one of them is going to accidentally roll off somehow when he’s not looking.

"You should have used one of the _pee-pee teepees_ ," she tells him and he’s still not sure how she can say pee-pee teepee with a straight face. The little cone-shaped, cloth devices were a baby shower gift from Ken Hotate, so he kind of thought they were a joke but apparently, pee-pee teepees are very useful items. Especially if you don’t want to have your adorable baby boy projectile pee all over you.

Ben manages to get his eyes and face wiped off, while Leslie finishes changing their son’s diaper next to him. When he turns towards his wife, she still looks entirely too amused.

"Oh come on," she tells him. "How funny did you think the breast pump fiasco of last month was?"

She’s got him there. “It was…pretty funny,” he admits, trying not to laugh.

"Right," Leslie says, picking their child up and cradling him. "So was this."

Leslie turns her attention to the baby in her arms. “Daddy should have used a pee-pee teepee, huh? He had no idea you were so good at that,” she tells the little gurgling and happy infant.

"No. He didn’t," Ben agrees, grinning as he lightly squeezes and tickles the small blue-socked foot. "And now daddy is going to take a shower, because he has baby pee in his hair. And on his shirt," Ben looks down. "Wow. And on his pants. Good job, kiddo."


	2. Presidential Sex Quiz (Come On)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit

"Tell me, if you can, who was the 23rd president?"

"Um, hold on a minute….huh. Who was that again?" she asks out loud with a grin. "That’s a tough one. Just kidding! It’s Benjamin Harrison." Leslie doesn’t even wait for Ben to tell her that she’s right. She is and she knows it. "How about this one—which president had the nickname Old Rough and Ready?”

Ben is making his I’m thinking face and it’s all Leslie can do to not lean in and give him a kiss, taste herself on his lips from earlier. He’s just so cute. She settles for moving her hand down and rubbing her fingers teasingly through the crinkly hair below his belly. He shudders and she can feel him, hard right near her hand.

"Come on. You’re almost out of time. Should I start the countdown?" She teases.

"No. No. I’ve got this. It was…Zachary Taylor," he states, then pulls her closer, their chests smashed together as they lay on their sides.

"Your turn. Name Franklin Roosevelt’s labor secretary from 1933 to 1945." Ben looks at her expectantly and then moves back a bit on their bed, while his hands start to wander—one up and one down.

Leslie laughs. That’s such an easy one, he must want to let her win. Just as she’s about to answer— _Ohhhhhhhhhh_. “God,” she gets out before her hips buck forward and her eyes snap shut.

"Should I start the countdown clock?" He asks. After a few seconds when she doesn’t answer at all but just moans, he counts it down. "3…2…1," Ben makes an annoying buzzing noise and leans in close to whisper in her ear, "It was Frances Perkins…I win."

"How? But…wait, I knew that." What the hell? How did he do that?

Ben starts laughing. Then he says the winning catchphrase, the one that she remembers him first coming up with in the house that he used to live in with April and Andy. The one she hears more often that she would expect, the one that usually makes her giggle (especially when she’s the one saying it). “You have just lost presidential sex quiz. Prepare to be boarded.”

"But that…" Leslie starts to complain as he guides her onto her back. She absentmindedly bends her knees and spreads her legs for him regardless, because, really? Losing is still pretty fun. But it’s the principle of the thing. "How did…? Wait a minute here…"

He studies her confused face. “Okay, I probably shouldn’t let you in on this secret, but I am starting to feel a little guilty, I guess.”

"What?"

"Here’s the thing. If I circle around one of your nipples clockwise and at the same time, I rub your clit counter-clockwise, it kind of short circuits your brain. I think I discovered that…" he pauses. "Wow, back when we were dating? That one weekend you visited me in DC. I’ve been using it to win presidential sex quiz for years now. Whenever I want to be on top or win a switch the position challenge in a bonus round, I just do that. And you can’t think of the answer…it’s so adorable. Even if it’s something that I know you know,” he stops to smirk at her. “Like Frances Perkins.”

"What?" She looks at him incredulously. That doesn’t even…He does what now?

"Exactly what I said," Ben insists with a grin, while he lightly runs his fingers along her faded c-section scar. He moves down and kisses a path across it, making her giggle loudly. Ever since it healed, she’s been incredibly ticklish there.

"Shhhhhh," he says, looking up at her. "You’re going to blow our cover and then they’ll know that we didn’t lock ourselves in our room so that you could help me write a presentation."

"Hey, do you want me to fake help you write you a rap instead?" She teases.

"Nah, I’m too white to pull that off," he shoots back, moving back up and settling between her open thighs, as they both laugh at the old joke.

"Wait a minute. Stop distracting me. I still can’t believe…are you just messing with me about the clockwise/counter-clockwise rubbing thing?"

Ben snorts. “No. It’s a proven fact. It works. I’ve done years of research. In fact, I—”

They’re interrupted by a knock at their bedroom door, before their 15 year-old daughter’s voice yells, “I’m home from the library.”

They both turn to look at the clock, which reads 9:45 in bright red LED digits.

"Thank you for being early," Leslie yells back, while Ben adds a quick, "Goodnight!"

"Ewww! That’s so gross, you two," comes the reply through the door.

"What?" Ben whispers to Leslie. "How did I make it sound like…we’re doing what we are, in fact, doing?"

"Just let me handle stuff like that okay? You make it sound like you’re in a hurry for them to go away." Leslie whispers back.

"Well…I am in a hurry for them to go away," he answers, accenting his words with a slow push inside her.

"Mmmmmmm, right. And they’re old enough to figure out why," she tells him with a smile.

Some days (everyday) Leslie can’t believe that she’s the mother of three teenagers. Or that she still loves her job or that she’s married to this wonderful, sexy, nerd-ball of a man with silver streaks in his still-full head of hair and that they’re doing this incredible thing together. That they still have silly sex games and waffle dinners every Thursday night and amazing friends that are more like family than anything else.

That she and Ben created three smart and funny human beings—that she even gets to have all of this happiness. It’s just so above and beyond what any person has the right to expect or even deserve.

When she was 15, her father had already been dead for five years.

She pulls Ben down in a rush, so that he’s almost lying flat on top of her. He stops moving inside her and hugs back--one nice thing about an almost 20-year relationship—he knows she gets extra emotional sometimes and he just goes with it, she doesn’t need to explain anything if she doesn’t want to. Or can’t.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too, babe. Something going on?"

"No. I’m just very happy," she stops talking when he kisses her, slow and deep. Leslie gives him a smile when he eventually pushes up so he can study her face, starts swaying into her again slowly.

"Okay. Let’s do a bonus round. And I’m onto you now buddy, so don’t even try to…do that awesome thing…that I still don’t entirely believe.”


	3. Are You Fucking Kidding Me? (Rating: PG)

"You know, just because she’s a girl, she doesn’t have to wear pink," Leslie comes up behind Ben and wraps her arms around him.

"I know that," he insists, looking down at his one month old daughter in her little pink onesie.

"It just…seems like whenever you get them all dressed, you put her in pink."

"Well," Ben appears to consider his answer carefully. Very carefully. "We have a lot of pink baby clothes from Garry’s daughters."

"True. But you don’t seem to dress the boys in those."

Ben sighs. “Babe. I promise, it’s not a sexist thing.”

"Then what is it?" She pulls her arms from around his waist and moves back and stands next to him.

"Can’t you just believe me when I tell you that—"

"No," Leslie tells him, starting to feel herself get a little worked up. What is it with men always wanting to make female things pink? First it was the names on the girls’ soccer uniforms back in ‘05 and now this? And from her own husband? "I want to know…no. I demand to know why you keep dressing our daughter in pink."

He sighs. Then mumbles, “ _Ithelpsmetellthemapartquickly_."

"What?"

"If I don’t put her in pink, I can never tell which one she is and when people ask me, I want to be able to sound like I know who is who without having to do a diaper change."

"But how can you tell the boys apart?"

Ben sighs. “Honestly, I wait for you to tell me,” he pauses. “Oh my god, I am a horrible father.”

"Oh, honey," Leslie says, trying not to laugh.

"No. Seriously. Right now? I have no idea who is who. I mean, I know which one is our daughter because she does not have a penis and more importantly, because she’s wearing pink, but the other two?" He brings his hands up to his head. "I don’t know. I try to write down each day which boy is wearing which color, but…I think I messed that up last week and now I really have no idea. I mean I know baby two is in lambs and baby three is in brown stripes but what their actual names are?” Ben stops to shake his head. “And then I think I told your mom the wrong names when she was over Thursday. God, we should have kept those little bracelets on them. Why in the hell did we take those off? How can I not tell my sons apart? How are you so amazing at it?” he takes a breath before continuing, “Is it because they were in your body?”

"Well, they do look a lot alike," she says.

Ben narrows his eyes at her and deadpans, “You mean because they’re identical?”

"You’re not a horrible father," Leslie tells him, still trying not to laugh. He really isn’t—he’s a great father. So happy and patient and kind already—to both their kids and also to her while she’s been recovering.

"I feel like it," he answers sadly.

God, she feels so guilty. Leslie sighs and then leans over one of the sections of the beautiful maple triple crib Ron handcrafted for them and carefully unsnaps the brown and white striped onesie to reveal a tiny little foot. She frowns. Then Leslie gently tugs the other foot out.

"Oh. Are you fucking kidding me?" Oh my god, oh my god, did it wear off, she wonders frantically. Crap on a carnival ride.

"What? What?" Ben makes a confused face as he watches her move to the next little mattress and look at lambs feet, finally finding what she’s searching for—a tiny little toenail with green nail polish on it.

"Oh…It’s still there. Okay, I just had them mixed up for a couple of hours," Leslie says with relief. "That’s not a big deal. Okay. Look, this is how we tell them apart. I did that last week. Ann suggested it."

"Wait. What? How did I not notice that?" Ben peers down at the small little toe.

"It’s tiny. If you don’t know it’s there, you probably wouldn’t notice it." And it is—baby toenails are pretty damn small.

"But why didn’t you tell me about this? This seems like an important piece of information to have."

"You were just so impressed that I could tell them apart. I--"

"Leslie, we need to be a team here. There’s three of them and only two of us. We need to share secrets like this, babe."

"I know. I know. I’m sorry, really. I had no idea you were feeling so bad. I just…I mean, you thought I was such an amazing mother. That I just knew who was—"

"You are an amazing mother. You made these tiny little people."

"Well, I had some help," She smiles at him, even though tears are threatening to overspill. These stupid hormones are…well, really stupid.

"True. I did do some of the work." Ben takes her hand and they look down at all three of their babies--thankfully each one quiet and peacefully asleep at the moment.

"I liked it when you thought I just knew who was who because I was so great at this," Leslie admits in a whisper.

"You are great—"

She cuts him off before he can finish. “Well, I’m learning. And I’m going to be. But right now it’s…hard. And a lot of the time I have no idea what I’m doing and stuff hurts and I’m just so tired all the time. But you’re right. I should have showed you my trick.”

"It’s okay," he pulls her in for a hug and kisses the top of her head. "So it was Ann’s idea, huh?"

"Yeah. She said a lot of parents of identical twins do that in the beginning."

"Okay. Hey, we should totally just keep this to ourselves and let everyone else think that we’re just really awesome at telling them apart."

Leslie laughs quietly, snuggling her face into Ben’s flannel shirt. She’s pretty sure he fell asleep in it last night and it kind of smells like a combination of baby wipes and breast milk, but she doesn’t care. “God, I love you so much.”


	4. The Snuggie Debacle (Rating: PG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snuggie Debacle is one of the cards under “Personal” on Leslie’s Topics of Conversations That She Needs to Have with Ann idea board at the start of _Galentine’s Day 2_. I’ve always imagined that as some sort of a sex or cuddle mishap with Ben that Leslie wanted to tell Ann about.

"You do this with Ann?" Ben asks again, even more skeptically this time, as she lies down next to him on the couch and maneuvers her arm into the other sleeve of the bright blue snuggie.

Leslie smiles as she tries to make herself comfortable. “Well, not exactly this, because tragically, Ann and I are both heterosexual,” she pauses while he chuckles. “And we each have our own snuggies, so it’s more like sitting next to each other on the couch, drinking wine, eating popcorn, and watching movies. Well, it’s exactly that. But since Ann is in Michigan now, you’ll have to do,” she gives him a teasing look. “And since we only have one snuggie, we’re…improvising.”

"We’re sharing a snuggie," Ben comments.

"Right. We’re married, so half of my snuggie is your snuggie anyway."

They spend a couple of minutes adjusting elbows and spreading thighs, getting situated and comfortable on the couch. And really, it is pretty cozy and snuggly.

She misses Ann terribly, of course, but she and Ben might just be on to something here. A new Ann-less snuggie tradition all their own, spread out on the sofa, each with one arm in the snuggie’s plush and soft sleeve.

"Not that I’m not having fun, but this won’t work…how can we drink our wine if we’re lying down like this? Also, we need the remote," Ben tells her.

They both look around, Leslie even sticks her hand between Ben’s legs, down in between the couch cushions. Nope. The remote’s not there. Although she does maybe spend a few extra seconds fondling the goods.

"I’m pretty sure that’s not going to turn the TV on," he tells her as she laughs, removing her hand from the front of his pants…but not before one final, light squeeze.

"Oh, I don’t know, that’s a fairly impressive penis you have there, Ben."

"Um, thanks? But, I’d have to get pretty close to the TV to push the buttons with it manually—"

"You mean penally?” She giggles against his chest. “See what I did?”

"Yeah," Ben tries not to laugh. "Hey, have you seen the…? Oh."

"What?"

He uses his free hand to point towards the TV, where the remote is sitting right in front of the flat screen, about ten feet away. But really, when you’re two people wrapped up in a single snuggie, it might as well be an ocean away.

"Crap. Okay. New plan. First, we sit up," Leslie struggles to get into a sitting position and in the process, falls off the couch, taking Ben with her. She lands on the floor first with a thud, before he follows right after, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor, right on top of them both.

"Babe? Oh my god, are you okay?" Because while Ben slammed his pointy knee right into her hip and his elbow into her right breast when he landed on top of her (and that all certainly hurt), she also heard a loud cracking noise as he followed her onto the hardwood floor. And she doesn’t think that was the popcorn bowl.

"I hit my head on the coffee table. That’s probably not good, right? God, are you okay?” He tries to get off her as best as he can, but since he’s still trapped in the snuggie, he really can’t easily get off her at all.

"I think I’m going to have a bruise on my hip where you kneed me and possibly my ass where I hit the floor," she tells him. "And we lost the popcorn."

"Sorry," he automatically reaches his free hand towards her hip and starts rubbing gently, brushing stray popcorn kernels from her body as he lightly massages her through her sweat pants. Leslie tries to work her hand up to touch the side of his head, but she can’t quite get free of the soft blue material and Ben is still lying on her other arm.

"God damn it, I’m stuck. This stupid fucking snuggie,” she says, trying to pull her arm free from under his shoulder. It takes a couple of minutes (probably longer than it would have if they both weren’t laughing), before they’re finally able to free themselves. Once they are, Ben flings the snuggie towards the couch, where it promptly knocks his wine glass over.

They both stare as the white wine drips off the side table and onto the edge of the snuggie-covered sofa.

"Well, of course that happened," Ben comments, moving all the way off of Leslie and sitting back against the coffee table. "Good lord that thing is dangerous. So, hey, here’s an idea."

Leslie manages to sit up and survey the damage of their relaxing Saturday. “What?”

"We’re already sort of doing our own thing here, right?" She nods, but not before snorting. "And since I am no substitute for Ann and I probably have a concussion, why don’t we just forget all about the snuggie, clean up the wine and popcorn, and then do it on the couch under a real blanket? We can start our own lazy Saturday afternoon, snuggie-less tradition.”

Do what on the cou—oh,” Leslie considers this. “Yeah, okay. That works. Let’s do that instead.”

"Good. And then maybe afterwards you get me an ice pack for my head? Or possibly take me to the emergency room? I’m not sure which yet…"


	5. Are You Flirting with Me? (Rating: R)

Leslie stops paging through her binder (number three of five) and turns her full attention to the warm, playful, somewhat nonsensical voice in her right ear. “Benjamin Wyatt, from the City Manager’s Office…are you drunk?”

"What? I…uh, yeah. I’m kind of drunk, Leslie Knope, from the Parks Department," he confirms and then he starts laughing. Like pretty much full-on giggling, which is completely infectious and makes Leslie laugh too. Actually, Ben sounds pretty hammered, nowhere near _snakejuice-hammered_ , but definitely past tipsy. Wait? Do guys get tipsy? Anyway, it is adorable.

"Ben, Ben. How did this happen? Remember when you used to be an all-business hard-ass?" She teases into her phone, while using her foot to push her Spring Parks Upkeep binders one, two, four, and five towards the end of her bed. "I thought you were going to go home and finish up those budget sheets tonight?"

"I was but then I came to Pawnee and now home is this crazy house. And I had beer. Plus tequila, I think? April made something for us to drink. But, really I was mining my own business--"

"Mining your own business?" She repeats. "And then drinking with April?"

”Minding. Or, I don’t know, mining could work there too, cute smarty-pants. Anyway, serious all-business was being taken care of here at chez-casa Wyatt-Ludgate-Dwyer and Associates, and then I went out to the kitchen to make myself dinner and somehow, I got involved in a very heated and confusing Golden Girls drinking game with my scampish yet insane roommates. I still don’t completely understand it…but Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy got me pretty tanked. And now I really want to do that thing we said we shouldn’t do tonight. Oh and I also kind of want cheesecake.”

"Cheesecake, huh?"

"Yeah. And the other thing too. Probably that first."

There’s a short silence before Leslie asks, “Well…what if you snuck out of the house and I picked you up on the corner of Elm and Third? And we could come back here.” Sometimes having a secret boyfriend is a lot of fun—like being in a spy movie or something. She could wear her dark glasses and a big hat to go get him. Maybe a mysterious scarf too?

"That might work. But I’d have to put on pants to leave the house…"

"Why aren’t you wearing pants?"

"I spilled my drink on them and I went to my room to change and then I decided I’d rather talk to you then watch more Golden Girls. I’m wearing a pair of those boxer-briefs that you like. Well, those and also my shirt, tie, and socks…I’m working a whole business-casual look here,” Ben tells her.

"Yes, it sounds like you do have a look." Leslie grins, picturing Ben lying back on his bed and talking to her, adorable, past-tipsy, and pants-less.

"I do," he agrees. "And also, April and Andy are still in the living room. Based on the sounds, I think they’re, uh, fucking out on the couch right now. I’m kind of afraid to go look."

"Oh, Ben."

"Yeah. I’m trapped in my room. Because of the out-of-bounds fucking.”

One thing that Leslie has learned about Ben over the last three weeks—when he’s turned on, he uses the word fuck a lot. As a verb. He’s even gotten her doing it. The word has always seemed a little vulgar to her, but Leslie’s really beginning to appreciate it lately—the way it rolls off her tongue when he’s touching between her spread thighs or when Ben is whispering things to her as he kisses along the side of her neck.

Mmm-hmmm. Fuck is sexy. _Fuck yes._ Of course, she’s gotten him to use the term make out now too, which over the last couple of weeks, pretty much has come to mean the same exact thing as fuck.

"And then I started thinking about you and I just really wanted to hear your voice. So here I am. In your phone." There’s a pause before he adds. "Hi, secret-Leslie."

"Hi, secret-Ben," she answers back, smiling in her empty yet cluttered bedroom. Crap on a cockatoo, she really wishes he was here right now.

"I liked the shirt you were wearing today. It looked really nice on you. The blue matched your eyes. You have such pretty eyes."

"I, oh..thank you."

"You’re so beautiful. Like a yellow flower in the sun. With light blue eyes and you wear good-looking, eye-matching shirts. And you smell like…the best dessert in the world. You also taste like the best dessert in the whole world," he adds in a lower, throatier tone. Then, "Hey, here’s an idea—we should make out tonight."

"You mean fuck?"

Ben kind of growls in response.

"Why, Mr. Wyatt. Are you flirting with me?" Leslie teases and is rewarded with more of his warm, soft laughter in her ear.

"I am, definitely. Yes. And also, all of your shirts make your breasts look amazing. Diaphena-level amazing, which, really is Leslie Knope-level amazing. God, I’m sorry, don’t think I’m objectifying you because I lo..like your brain too, but I also really, really like your boobs. That’s okay, right?"

"That’s okay," she assures him. "Oh my god. Wait. Is this…a booty call?"

He pauses. “Wow. Yeah, I think it is. Leslie Knope, I am calling to request the presence of your…booty. For sexy, forbidden things.”

Now it’s her turn to laugh again—numbers robot Ben is such a silly drunk. Well, also hot and cute. God, she’s only been talking to him for about two minutes but she really wants to jump him. How is this even possible? But…”We were trying to cool it for a couple of days though, remember? Wasn’t April getting suspicious of you not sleeping at your house?”

"Right. Good point. You are a smarty-pants. Hey. I know. You should come here—no pants required at casa-chez Wyatt-Floodgate-Dryer. Oh god, yeah, that’s a great idea. You really need to come here. On my bed. And then I’m still sleeping here, so problem solved. And don’t worry, I can still do it when I’ve been drinking. In fact, just talking to you now is…god Leslie, it’s making me hard.”

Leslie groans. Drunk Ben is kind of slutty and awesome.

"And I really want to wake up with you in my bed tomorrow. They sleep late. We’ll set my alarm for early and I can walk you to your car. It’s fine. Come over and we’ll make out now. The kind of making out where I lick you and push my fingers into you and make you come all against my face.”

"Jesus, Ben."

"And then we can cuddle. I just really want you in my bed. Please?"

"But, if they’re in the living room, how do I get to your room without being seen?" Even as she says this, Leslie is up and grabbing a small bag, throwing some toiletries in it. Wait? Do you bring cotton balls and moisturizer to a sneaky, overnight booty call? She should text Ann and ask. Oh! She should definitely wear her sexy scarf and dark glasses too. And her fancy underwear, the pair she got at the mall with Donna when she tagged along with her and Tom for part of Treat Yo Self Day 2009. Leslie starts rummaging around her top drawer for her lacy blue panties and her matching bra from Victoria’s Secret.

"Just crawl in through the window."

She stops the rummaging. “What?”

"I know, I know," Ben starts, and she can already hear the apology in his voice. "It sounds like something Sewage Joe would suggest if he called someone and wanted them to come over for…things, and I’m so sorry about that. But the screen popped off this morning and I haven’t put it back yet, so it’ll be super easy. I’ll help you in, it’s right by the window seat," Ben pauses briefly. "I mean, you are a front door, sophisticated woman and I definitely think that, but right now, the front door is not an option, so I think my bedroom window is our best work-around. Because the back door route goes past the living room too. I just want you to know that I would never, ever ask you to sneak into a window for sex stuff unless I really respected you as a person. Which I do. Also, it’s important for you to know that window is not a euphemism for anything…so it’s not like I’m a weirdo.”

"Oh. Okay then."

"Really?" Even though she can’t see his face, she’s pretty sure he’s smiling. That kind of surprised smile he does that makes her stomach flutter.

"Yes. I’ll be over in a few minutes. I’ll park a couple of blocks away on Vine."

"Yay," Ben responds and wow, he is drunk if he’s saying yay, Leslie thinks.

“Hey, I don’t suppose there’s anyway you could pick up a cheesecake on your way over? I still didn’t eat dinner.”

She grins, zips up her bag. “I could do that. Yeah.” Making out and a cheesecake? God, her drunk, secret boyfriend is the best.


	6. That's a Good Look for You (Rating: PG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to Are You Flirting with Me?

**October, 13 2009**

She hates Eagleton. Really, she does. That’s why it’s so, so annoying that the Plaza at Eagleton is the only nearby mall with a _Things Remembered_ store so that Leslie can browse the new selection of annual Christmas snow globes. Stupid Eagleton.

It’s also the only nearby mall with a reflecting pool out back, a _Godiva Chocolates_ , a leather coat store, and a silk tie kiosk. So really, Leslie is not at all surprised to run into Tom and Donna, loaded down with shopping bags, singing about cashmere sweaters, Belgian chocolates, and _Coach_ handbags when she leaves the _Radio Shack_ with a new tape roll for her Casio KL-120 label printer (her other mall-related errand over lunch).

" _It’s the best day of the—_ "

"Leslie!" Tom exclaims, stopping mid-song. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed something for my label maker," she tells them, gesturing towards the store she just exited. Tom looks at her and slowly shakes his head while Donna studies her, making a confused face.

"When was the last time you treated yourself to something?" Tom asks.

"Well, I had waffles this morning. Extra whipped cream and everything."

"That’s not a treat—that’s a regular Tuesday morning for you," Donna comments. "That’s it. You are coming…" Donna stops talking and looks around, her face finally settling on the _Victoria’s Secret_ next door, “in here with me and you are going to get yourself something nice.”

Tom makes a snorting noise.

"No, that’s okay, I don’t need new underwear. I just bought a bunch of things at _Target_. They were having a sale - three for $15. I even got a pair with different sized polka dots on them. They’re really cute.”

"Oh lord," Donna says as Tom rolls his eyes and kind of shudders before wandering away to look at a display of fur-brimmed hats. "Knope, you are a sexy, powerful, full-grown woman and there’s no reason you should be wearing cute $5 polka dot cotton panties from _Target_. Get in here and treat yourself to the good stuff.”

After a few minutes, Leslie has been loaded down with a number of satin and lace bras (there’s even a leather one in her collection to try), a red bustier, and a selection of thongs and tiny, silky panties. Donna finally shoves her into a dressing room and tells her she can’t come out until she finds something to purchase that’s at least $50 and makes her look and feel sexy. Pampered. Like a goddess.

She gets through most everything not really liking much but then…”Donna. Donna!” Leslie whispers loudly.

"What?"

Leslie peeks out of the dressing room curtain and sees her friend smelling her way through a display of perfumes a few feet away.

"Come here."

As soon as she’s close enough, Leslie stands back, pulls the curtain open a bit, grabs Donna’s hand, and drags her into the dressing room quickly.

"Damn!" Donna exclaims, as she focuses her wide eyes over Leslie’s state of undress.

"Yeah?" Even though she’s trying the light blue satin and lace panties on over her own well-worn black cotton bikinis, they look good. So does the matching, push-up style lacy bra—like really, really good. Her boobs look awesome. So does her ass. She just needs a second opinion to be sure. And maybe a sexy hat?

"That’s a good look for you. You’ve actually got some smokin’ curves under those boring, old lady pant suits and ill-fitting blazers. Now you just need to find some hot thing to use and abuse in your new sexy undies."

Leslie starts giggling, continuing to check herself out in the three-way mirror. Wow, she does look pretty sexy. Plus, this shade of light, icy blue matches her eyes just perfectly. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but holy shit it looks amazing.

She can’t help herself from wondering what Mark would think if he ever saw her in it. Or maybe someone else? Or hell, maybe she’ll just wear this fancy set under one of her old lady pants suits just for herself. Like a sneaky, sexy secret only she knows about.

"I’m serious, Leslie. You are tiny and gorgeous and blonde—guys love that sort of thing. You need to get out there and have some fun. And this is how you start. Now…what are you going to do?"

Leslie nods, still admiring herself in the mirror. “I’m going to treat myself!”

Donna holds her hand up for a high-five and Leslie slaps it determinedly.

"And then I’m going to go back to _Things Remembered_ and I’m going to buy that completely over-priced Santa and Mrs. Claus baking cookies snow globe.”


	7. You Forgot to Say the Magic Word (Rated G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-season 6, but Camping episode-inspired

”Blue!”

In his role as official artist-assistant, Ben is about to dig around for a blue crayon to hand to the small boy sitting in his lap, but before he does, he prods him with, “You forgot to say the magic word.”

"Waffles!" His son shouts out in response. This is followed by his daughter’s cry of, " _Accio_!" and his other child’s giggly yell adding, " _Otters_!" to the mix.

Next to him in the small tent, he can both feel and hear Leslie…well, cackling, without even turning his head to look at his wife, whom he’s sure is incredibly, ridiculously amused.

"The magic word is please. You all know that,” Ben responds patiently, finally directing his attention to Leslie, where she sits next to him, his daughter in his wife’s lap, Leslie’s arms around her as she plays with his old calculator. Both of them are looking all snuggily in flannel pajamas, and while Leslie’s not laughing anymore, she’s obviously trying hard not to. They share a smile.

"Please daddy! Blue crayon!" A little leg bounces at his side in impatience, and he knows that all small children act like this, but the wiggly, energetic movements are Leslie through and through. It always makes him smile when one of the kids does it.

Ben looks down at the crayon box, finds the blue one, and puts it in the eager little four-year old hand.

"Thanks you," comes the reply and he and Leslie grin at each other again.

"You’re welcome," Ben answers.

"Is it done now?"

"Yes," Ben responds, leaning down to kiss the head of soft brown hair. He wraps his arms around his son tighter as he watches him painstakingly color in what looks like the sky on his big pad of paper. He could be wrong though—once he thought a bright yellow starfish was the sun.

The next hour is spent finishing artwork, singing a made-up song about grumpy turtles and happy pancakes, reading a story by flashlight, asking once again if anyone has to go to the bathroom, and then snuggling down into the two zipped-together sleeping bags.

"Camping is pretty great, right?" Leslie asks him quietly.

He reaches a hand out over their sleeping children and finds hers. “It’s pretty great.”

"So, next weekend, I say we take this show on the road. We pitch our tent in the Wamopoke County Forest, grill some burgers, watch the sunset, and make s’mores? Lots of s’mores. We’ll bring books, and their art things, their stuffed animals, snacks, slippers…"

Ben doesn’t feel 100% convinced that he wants to do this out in the middle of the Pawnee Campground, surrounded by nothing but nature (and probably wild animals, bugs…homicidal maniacs?), but he’s definitely closer to being talked into it than he was this afternoon, when they first set Leslie’s tent up in their backyard.

The backyard of their house where there are multiple bathrooms with indoor plumbing less than 20 feet away, and also their comfortable, dry beds in case it starts to rain. A first aid kit. Water. DVDs of the kids favorite cartoons. Honestly though, he’s pretty warm and comfortable right now, with the four most important people in the whole world right next to him, all cuddled up together under a pile of cozy blankets from the closets and his and Leslie’s sleeping bags.

All of this is definitely pretty great. He moves his leg so that his foot pushes softly against his wife’s.

Leslie continues to state her case as she starts to slide her wool sock-covered foot up to his ankle, rubbing it against him. “I mean, I know this is no _glamping_ with Tom—we won’t have an ice cream machine or Top Chef marathons, but you can always grab onto my boob if you start to feel uneasy. It’s saved a man before, you know.”

Ben laughs. “Okay. I think that sounds nice. Perfect. Let’s try it,” he says. Then adds quickly, “for one night.”

"Plus, we won’t be that from home. If it’s a disaster, we can pack it up pretty easily. Wait. Really?"

"Yeah," he confirms.

"What changed your mind?"

"You did. Well, and the boob thing," Ben jokes. "Come here."

She smiles widely at him, then leans across the three sleeping bundles to meet Ben halfway, and their lips barely brush together, before a sleepy little voice pipes up with, ”I have to go to the bathroom.”


End file.
